


Approbation

by childrenofthesun



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Body Worship, Dubious Consent, Eventual Happy Ending, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Praise Kink, Requited Unrequited Love, Sex Pollen, more pining than the Everglades, trope-typical consent issues, you got angst in my porn!, you got porn in my angst!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-01-23 19:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21325597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/childrenofthesun/pseuds/childrenofthesun
Summary: Aziraphale loves Crowley, and even though he knows Crowley doesn't feel the same way, it's fine. He's content enough to be able to get to spend all the time he wants with the one he loves.Crowley gets hit by a lust spell baked up by some idiot humans, and Aziraphale finds him rather ineffectively trying to take matters into his own hands (as it were).Aziraphale offers to help him through, because after all, what are friends for?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 290
Kudos: 1050





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, look, I'm capable of coming up with my own ideas and not just endlessly filling stuff from the kinkmeme, all right? 
> 
> And, naturally, I'm doing so with more sex pollen.
> 
> I'm thinking this will end up being 3-4 chapters long (famous last words, I know). I'll update the chapter total once I've got a bit more of a solid idea.
> 
> Mind the tags as you go.

Aziraphale stopped in the middle of taking a sip of cocoa, mug frozen against his lips, and tried not to panic as he felt Crowley's aura drop off his radar entirely.

He'd grown quite adept at being able to sense Crowley's general whereabouts over the past millennium or so. Ostensibly, he'd learnt to do so as an indispensable skill to be utilised in the thwarting of his demonic adversary. In reality, he usually used it to check if Crowley was in town so he could ask him out to dinner or a show. In a purely platonic way, of course. Just as friends. They were an angel and a demon, after all, that they were even friends at all was a gift that Aziraphale should have been more than satisfied with.

Should have been.

The fact was, like so many things in his experience on Earth, Aziraphale loved Crowley a good deal more than he was really supposed to. For all that Heaven was meant to be a realm of infinite compassion, Crowley had always seemed so much more genuine than all the angels Aziraphale knew combined. Where the edges of Aziraphale's soul felt faded and frayed, worn down by the passage of time, Crowley was able to bring things back into focus, remind him of all the wonder and beauty to be found in the world with a curiosity that burnt brighter than anything Aziraphale had ever known. Crowley hid his true self behind layers of snark, and his ridiculous (tempting) swagger, and those damned sunglasses, but Aziraphale saw beneath it all. A Fallen angel who had only ever wanted to understand why things had to be the way they were. Who dared to ask why they couldn't be better.

It was a question Aziraphale wouldn't have minded an answer to himself, he thought glumly. He certainly didn't understand why God had put such a beautiful, contradictory demon in his path, had let Aziraphale fall in love him, when She must have known full well that Crowley would never love him back.

Oh, Aziraphale had hoped. For almost a century, he'd hoped, desperately, for the demon's begrudging affection for him to blossom into something more. Crowley had always gone so much faster than him, Aziraphale had even told him so. He knew that if the demon had ever developed deeper feelings for him, he would have surely acted on them by now - notwithstanding that Aziraphale would have been able to sense it if Crowley fell in love with him. The Apocalypse had come and failed and gone, so it wasn't even like Aziraphale could pretend that the threat of their respective Head Offices finding out about their association was staying Crowley's hand.

He knew that Crowley knew how he felt. It wouldn't have been possible not to - Aziraphale's love practically shone out of him any time he so much as looked at the demon, he couldn't have been any more obvious about it if he'd shouted it from the roof of his bookshop. And he knew that at least Crowley found him physically appealing; he'd felt the demon's burning gaze whenever they had a meal together, watching intensely as Aziraphale savoured his food. How his serpentine eyes would linger on the angel's lips, no doubt imagining how they would feel pressed against the most intimate parts of his body. The thought didn't leave Aziraphale unaffected, either, and it was the closest thing he'd get to the demon wanting him back. Letting Crowley watch him eat like that was a safe indulgence, a stolen piece of pretend intimacy that would never amount to anything. Aziraphale had always been secure in the knowledge that Crowley was far too much of a gentledemon to act on his base desires when he'd known that Aziraphale would want so much more than just a carefree tumble in the sheets. If they ever got physically intimate, Aziraphale knew that it wouldn't mean anywhere near as much to Crowley as it did to him. Being that close to having what he wanted, yet so breathtakingly far away from it, he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to look at the demon again for fear of breaking down completely.

The simple truth was that Crowley just didn't feel the same way as he did, and Aziraphale had had to make himself content with the demon's friendship. Not that he didn't treasure that immensely - it was a good part of the reason he'd defied Heaven to stop Armageddon, if he was being honest. The prospect of losing Crowley had been more than he could bear.

It was just that his feelings still being unrequited after all this time made him so dreadfully lonely, sometimes.

All this was to say, of course, that with both of them effectively in retirement, there was no real good reason that either of them would be summoned to Heaven or Hell again in the foreseeable future, and that was by far the most logical reason for Crowley vanishing so completely from his perception. And Crowley would certainly have given him a courtesy call if he'd gone of his own free will - not that he could imagine Crowley going Above or Below of his own volition. No, wherever the demon had gone, he probably hadn't had a choice in the matter.

Aziraphale contemplated contacting Heaven and demanding they return Crowley to him, but quickly dismissed the idea. They wouldn't give him back just because Aziraphale asked nicely, and if they called his bluff then he and Crowley would both be in deep trouble. Not to mention, if Heaven didn't have him, that would completely tip Aziraphale's hand. They might even pretend that they did, in order to ensure Aziraphale's compliance. And it would work - Aziraphale wouldn't be able to bring himself to risk the chance that they were telling the truth. He would never forgive himself for gambling on Crowley's wellbeing like that.

In reality, though, it was more likely Hell had him, and Aziraphale didn't know the first thing about getting in contact with them. Crowley had gotten them onto using modern human technology to communicate with their Earthside operatives, so trying to venture down that road was already a lost cause as far as Aziraphale's capabilities went.

For lack of anything else he could do about the situation, Aziraphale went to Mayfair, seeing as that was where he'd last felt Crowley's presence. He hoped that maybe there was enough of an aural signature left over that he could confirm, at least, which side had taken the demon. When he arrived outside the flat, however, there was no trace of the divine, no lingering demonic energy besides Crowley's own. Just the faithful Bentley waiting in the street in what definitely hadn't been a parking spot before Crowley had left the car there, headlights catching the midmorning sun, seeming to glare accusingly at Aziraphale for letting the demon vanish like this.

"I'll find him," he promised, feeling more than a little foolish in talking to a car.

It turned out he wouldn't need to. Very abruptly, Crowley reappeared on his radar, vaguely above and behind him. Aziraphale whirled, realising Crowley must be back in his flat.

He contemplated simply returning to the bookshop, no harm done, but there was an odd, frantic edge to the demon's aura that kept him from leaving. Just because Crowley was back didn't mean that whatever had caused him to disappear in the first place was resolved now. He might need help. He might be injured, or dying, or-

Aziraphale all but sprinted up to the flat, letting himself in with a miracle. The flat's interior was quiet, oppressively so, and all that Aziraphale could hear was his own panting breath as he hurried from room to room.

He spotted one of Crowley's snakeskin boots lying ominously in the hallway. Aziraphale surged forward, making a beeline for the slightly ajar door a few metres beyond the shoe.

"Crowley?" he asked tremulously as he pushed open what had to be Crowley's bedroom door, fearful of the state he was going to find the demon in. It would be fine, he told himself fiercely. If Crowley was hurt, Aziraphale would heal him, find out whichever demons or angels were responsible, and destroy them. "Are you all-"

He stopped dead at the sight that greeted him.

Crowley was sprawled out on black satin sheets, pants off and shirt rucked up underneath his armpits, as he tugged at his cock with wild abandon. He stared at Aziraphale with wide, lust-blown eyes.

"Angel," he rasped, a gravelly edge to his voice sending an entirely unfair shiver down Aziraphale's spine. "Y'can't be here right now."

"Of course, this is… ah… very personal," Aziraphale agreed, not moving. "It's only… well, I felt you vanish, and I was just worried that Hell had recalled you, or… or Heaven had taken you, and I wanted to make sure you were all right, which," he gave vent to a nervous titter, "you clearly are-"

"_Assziraphale_," Crowley hissed, a desperate edge to his tone. His fist pumped jerkily over his cock, cheeks flushing miserably as his head fell back against the pillows. Almost like he was touching himself against his own will.

"…Are you, actually?" Aziraphale ventured, hesitant. "All right?"

"I'll be fine," Crowley replied through clenched teeth.

"So, you aren't, currently?" Aziraphale pushed gently. Despite everything he knew about etiquette and having even the slightest sense of propriety screaming at him that he should leave the demon to deal with whatever was happening in private, he stepped further into the room. "Crowley, what's happened, has someone done something to you?"

"…Just some dumb humans read some books written by some other dumb humans about how summoning a demon and having sex with them will give you magic powers," he admitted, flush deepening. _Ah_. That at least explained the demon's temporary absence from Aziraphale's perception. Summoning circles had a tendency to obfuscate the aura of any occult or ethereal being unfortunate enough to get themselves trapped inside one. "The symbols were mostly rubbish, they didn't even close the circle properly so I was able to leave pretty much immediately, once I got my bearings." He thrust up into his fist and gritted his teeth tighter. "Only ones they got right were the lust ones. Room was swimming in it, half of 'em were already going at it by the time I turned up. I doubt they even noticed me leaving. Or arriving in the first place. There were some… lingering effects."

Aziraphale's throat clicked as he swallowed, mouth dry at the mental image of Crowley having stayed instead, giving in to the lust, crying out in ecstasy as he received pleasure from all angles. "Surprised you didn't stick around," he managed eventually.

"Eh, humans, not really my scene," Crowley muttered. "Figured I'd take care of it on my own. Although I'm getting the feeling this isn't a one-demon job." He smothered a guttural sound and Aziraphale pointedly did not watch as Crowley rolled up into the tight circle of his fingers once more. "Doesn't matter. I'll figure something out."

Aziraphale felt himself teetering on a precipice, then abruptly fell off. "If you need a hand," he went red at the double entendre, "a-as it were, it's no trouble, really, I could…"

Crowley looked at him sharply. "You don't want to do that."

"I think I should be the judge of that," Aziraphale replied, amazed at how calm he sounded. "At any rate, I know you've wanted to, for a long time." He took a breath. "I've seen the way you watch me eat. I know you've only been holding back on my account."

The demon grunted something indecipherable, his entire face flushing, the colour creeping down his neck.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow mirthlessly. "There's no use denying it, Crowley."

Crowley's voice cracked a little when he gathered himself enough to speak. "Aren't you worried you'll Fall?"

"What, for helping out a friend in need? I should hardly think so."

The demon's hips bucked upward. "Don't think Heaven'd view it that way," he muttered, but he didn't sound particularly convincing, his higher reasoning already beginning to seem like it was being consumed by his arousal.

"If I were to Fall for defying Heaven's wishes, it would have happened during Armageddon," he said reasonably. "Besides, it's not like I'd be doing it out of lust," he replied, and it was true. He'd be doing it out of love.

He'd never be able to admit it out loud. They both needed to maintain the charade that this was just Aziraphale doing his friend a favour. Having it all out in the open, where Crowley would be forced to admit that he didn't return the angel's feelings, would break him.

"The lassst thing I want is a _pity fuck_ from you, angel," the demon hissed, conviction marred by the way his hips jerked upward again.

"Crowley, this isn't pity, you know it isn't. Please let me help you," he begged, dropping all pretences except the one where he wasn't madly in love with the demon before him, laying a tentative, gentle hand over the fist Crowley had half-buried in the covers. The demon twitched, seemingly torn between ripping himself free of the angel's touch and leaning into it, but ultimately let it happen. His head rolled to the side so that Aziraphale couldn't meet his eyes, hips rolling skyward again as he let out a soft, distressed sound. Aziraphale gave his hand a squeeze. "I can see this is hurting you. Please. You've saved me so often when I've gotten myself in over my head with one thing or another over the centuries, allow me to return the favour."

"…We can't. I'm not going to be able to stop any feelings from getting involved," the demon whispered eventually, sounding pained, and Aziraphale felt his heart swell. Crowley truly was a wonder, to be in a condition like this and still be thinking of Aziraphale's emotional wellbeing before anything else.

"That doesn't matter," he said soothingly, heart aching as he tried to force himself to believe that was true. "You just need to remember that I'm doing this because I want to help you, nothing more than that."

"...You bastard," Crowley whispered, and turned suddenly to face him, tears that Aziraphale could only assume were from frustration rolling down his cheeks. Aziraphale ached to brush them away, to cradle the demon against his chest, to shower him with all the love and affection his angelic being could muster.

He swallowed thickly instead. "If you truly want me to leave, I will. I know the circumstances aren't… ideal. I promise that all I want is to help you."

Crowley stared at him, face going to war with itself.

"What do you need from me, Crowley?" he asked softly.

The conflict suddenly resolved.

"Everything," the demon gasped, the yellow of his eyes almost completely obliterated by black as he surrendered to the lust completely. "Give me everything."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I said this would probably 3-4 chapters long? Remember how I said those were famous last words?
> 
> Yeah, we're looking at 5-6 at this rate.

Any lingering reservations Crowley might have had seemed to vanish the moment Aziraphale wrapped his hand around the demon's leaking cock, arching up into the touch.

"_Fuck_," Crowley groaned, his own hand falling away to grab at the covers. He squeezed his eyes shut, mouth falling open, and Aziraphale shifted so that he was sitting sideways on the bed, his hip rubbing up against the outside of Crowley's thigh.

This was fine. It wasn't a one night stand in the way that Aziraphale had always dreaded Crowley wanted from him. Aziraphale was simply doing his friend a favour, there was no need to go ascribing any deeper emotion to it. It wasn't like there was anyone else for the demon to turn to for something like this, anyway, so really, what choice did he have?

Whilst Crowley had made his aversion to getting entangled with humans known, Aziraphale had had no such compunctions, and had taken many lovers over the years. None of them had soothed the heartache of his unrequited love for Crowley for long, but at least now he could use the skills he'd learnt to help his friend. That was all he wanted, he told himself, because that was all he was going to get.

His hand was steady as it slid up Crowley's cock in a long, slow drag, thumb swirling through the precome already seeping from the tip and spreading it down the shaft. Crowley moaned openly, wantonly, the spell robbing him of any and all inhibitions. Aziraphale wanted to dive down, wrap his lips around the demon's cock and suck until Crowley spilled down the back of his throat, feel the demon's fingers clench in his hair as he came, Aziraphale's name on his lips. But of course he couldn't - even with Crowley's thought processes being stunted as they were, he wouldn't be able to pretend that the angel going down on him like that was the platonic offering of assistance that Aziraphale had promised him. Instead, Aziraphale worked Crowley's cock over with his fingers, stroking steadily along its length, thumb tracing the edge of the head.

"Angel," Crowley gasped, cheeks somehow flushing redder. "This spell, it's- 'm sorry, I need, can you-"

Aziraphale blushed himself as he parsed what Crowley was asking for in his garbled query. "Of course, my dear boy," he murmured, settling further onto the bed. Crowley mindlessly spread his legs for him, hands rising to fist in the covers above his head as Aziraphale knelt between his thighs. The angel had to pause a moment to collect himself at the sight - Crowley, spread out before him, the wiry muscles of his arms drawn taut. The demon's hips canted upward in a desperate, unspoken plea. Aziraphale fiercely told himself to get a grip and get on with it. Crowley needed him.

Even if it wasn't quite the way Aziraphale wanted Crowley to need him.

He slicked the fingers of his free hand with a quick miracle, sliding them along the seam of Crowley's sack, over his taint, down to his waiting hole. Crowley thrashed as Aziraphale stroked his entrance a few times to ensure it was well-slicked, then pressed his first finger in.

"_Yesss_," Crowley hissed, immediately pushing back against the intrusion. His body accepted it readily, and before long he was fucking himself on three fingers, taking them in all the way to the knuckle. Aziraphale pressed in deep, searching for the demon's prostate. Given how far gone Crowley already seemed to be, he wasn't sure that it would have much additional effect, but he'd be damned if he didn't make this as good for Crowley as he could within his limited means.

It turned out he'd been wrong to assume that it wouldn't do much more for Crowley - his fingers crooked just so inside the demon, and suddenly he was arching away from the bed with a gasp, precum surging from the head of his cock, coating the fingers of Aziraphale's other hand as he continued to stroke his length.

"'Ziraphale," he panted. "_Oh_, Azira- please, I-" Crowley bit his tongue so hard that his teeth punched straight through it, black ichor filling his mouth. "I'm sorry-"

"It's all right," Aziraphale soothed, sending a golden tendril of holy energy Crowley's way to heal him.

The mere touch of the divine sent him hurtling over the edge with a choked cry. Aziraphale found himself absently glad that he'd already divested himself of his waistcoat and draped it over the ostentatious chair in the corner as Crowley's release splattered against his shirt.

It seemed that any refractory period the demon might have had had taken a temporary leave of absence, if the way he immediately began grinding back down onto Aziraphale's fingers was any indication.

Crowley reached up suddenly, fingers sliding around the back of Aziraphale's neck and pulling the angel down until their noses were almost touching. For a heart stopping moment, it seemed like Crowley was about to kiss him, and Aziraphale was filled with the certain knowledge that if that happened, the fragile pretence he'd built for himself would shatter and he'd immediately burst into tears. Mercifully, Crowley deviated at the last second, removing Aziraphale's bowtie and undoing his buttons with demonic speed before shoving his collar to the side and latching teeth to the angel's neck. His hands slipped under the open collar of Aziraphale's shirt, pushing the fabric aside so that he could grab at the angel's bare skin, curving his arms around Aziraphale's shoulders.

Aziraphale cradled the back of Crowley's head with one hand as the demon pulled him down on top of him, shoving Aziraphale's fingers even deeper inside him.

"Please, more," Crowley whispered against the hollow of his throat, hips rolling for emphasis. Obediently, Aziraphale pulled his fingers away, making the demon shudder and whimper at the emptiness as he undid his pants, kicking them off the end of the bed, his shirt following after. Crowley's legs wrapped impatiently around his waist, heels resting against the small of Aziraphale's back, then the angel lined up and pressed in.

Crowley's eyes fluttered shut, a look of such intense, rapturous bliss on his face that the tears in Aziraphale's own eyes slipped free after all.

What he wouldn't give to be able to put that expression on the demon's face because of love, rather than through this artificial desire that held Crowley in its thrall. But Aziraphale was greedy, and self-serving, and if helping Crowley through this was the only way for him to even pretend that the demon would want to be with him for anything more than the simple convenience of proximity, he would take it. He knew that having Crowley like this, babbling incoherently as he arched into Aziraphale's touch like he'd cease to exist without it, was already more than he deserved. That the demon's ragged gasps of, "Angel, please, more, need you," were the closest he'd ever get to hearing him say, "I love you," and that he should be grateful that he was even getting that much. Shame washed through him at the thought that he was owed anything more.

Of course, none of that stopped his own body from reacting to the way that Crowley was clenching perfectly around him. Or the way that Crowley's fingertips pressed into the spaces between Aziraphale's shoulder blades and spine, or the way Crowley's heels dug into the top of Aziraphale's arse to encourage the angel to fuck him deeper, filling the room with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. Aziraphale sternly told his corporation that under no circumstances was it to cum inside Crowley unless the demon explicitly asked for it.

"Harder," Crowley rasped, clinging to his back, and Aziraphale complied.

He was careful not to grip the demon's narrow hips hard enough to bruise, not to leave dark nail tracks down his back like he wanted. He knew he had no right to leave such possessive marks on his friend's body, not when none of this had truly been Crowley's choice in the first place.

But oh, how he'd selfishly allow the demon to make those same marks on him. He relished in the burning lines Crowley scratched into his shoulders, the round bruises feverishly sucked onto his skin, throbbing in time with his roaring pulse. He groaned as Crowley suddenly turned and pushed the angel onto his back, nails raking over his chest. He drank in Crowley's soft moan as the demon lined himself up and sank back down onto the angel, already rocking his hips again as he chased another orgasm. He watched avidly as the demon's head tipped back as he bounced himself on the angel's cock, exposing the elegant column of his throat.

Aziraphale ached to drag his fingers up the smooth line of the demon's neck, to leave a long daisy chain of love bites on his skin, to taste the smoke and spice of him. But it was a slippery slope, he knew, one that would invariably lead to Aziraphale professing his love into the hollow of Crowley's collarbone, would lead to him losing the demon forever. So he kept himself on a suffocatingly tight leash, only letting out a quiet moan when Crowley fell forward, digging his nails into the meat of Aziraphale's chest as he splattered them both with his release yet again.

"Sssorry," Crowley gasped apologetically, staring at the golden trails of blood he'd torn from Aziraphale's skin with no small amount of anguish.

"Don't be, my dear," Aziraphale soothed, and Crowley shuddered, already rocking back onto him again. "Take as much as you need from me, I'm here for you."

"Please," the demon begged, eyes brimming. "Need you to cum in me, need you to fill me up, need to feel it, please-"

Aziraphale had been working so hard to keep his own release at bay, to maintain a flimsy pretext that he wasn't doing any of this for himself.

Crowley's broken pleas had him unravelling in an instant, the demon sobbing with gratitude like Aziraphale had just offered him absolution. He collapsed against Aziraphale, arms giving out even as he sank his nails into the angel's shoulders. Aziraphale couldn't keep himself from wrapping the trembling demon up in a tight embrace, holding him close as they both rode out the tremors.

"Is that all you needed, my dear?" Aziraphale asked gently once the demon had stopped shaking, dreading the confirmation that it was over.

"…More," Crowley rasped eventually, damp face pressed hard against Aziraphale's chest, shuddering as he rolled his hips again. "Need more."

Aziraphale squashed down his awful, despicable sense of relief. "Of course, Crowley. As much as you need."

\---------------

The room had gone dark with nightfall so long ago that the sun was making its slow, crawling return, pale fingers of morning light poking around the edges of the drawn curtains. Aziraphale longed to fling them open, to let the warm sunlight set Crowley's skin aglow and his hair aflame, but he knew he'd have no way of explaining himself if he did. Instead, he drank in the muted sight of the demon's angles, softened by the blue-toned shadows of the darkened room. The smooth planes of his body almost seemed carved out of living marble, every bit as gorgeous as he had been when this had all started the morning before.

It could have been a week and Aziraphale still wouldn't have tired of the way that Crowley moved on top of him, with a bone-deep desperation that he could at least pretend was because of love.

He knew he wasn't going to get a week of this; Crowley was clearly nearing the end of his tether, having gone almost completely silent an hour or so earlier. Aziraphale found himself selfishly, horribly disappointed at the prospect of the lust spell the demon had been subjected to finally fading.

Crowley's head lolled against Aziraphale's shoulder, spine no longer willing to hold him upright, hips shuddering as he pressed himself down onto the angel. One arm reached up and back behind him, fingers threaded through Aziraphale's hair, keeping the angel's forehead pressed gently against the demon's temple, lips barely brushing the sweaty curve of his neck.

It took everything Aziraphale had to not lean forward that half-inch more, to not leave a trail of soft kisses along the demon's skin. To not whisper in Crowley's ear about how much he loved him as he rolled up into the demon's pliant body. To not let his hands drift any farther than where they were already resting on Crowley's hips - only to help keep him steady, Aziraphale had assured him during the sunset hours, when the demon had twitched as Aziraphale's hands curled around his trim waist. He certainly didn't tell him he'd also done it to feel the fluttering muscles of the demon's abdomen as he continued to writhe helplessly atop him, shakily dragging another orgasm from within the depths of himself, Aziraphale following him over the edge at the demon's soft plea for him to do so. Aziraphale studiously wiped the tears of exhaustion from Crowley's eyes as he shivered through the aftershocks. "There, there," he soothed. "Just let it all out, there's a dear fellow, everything's all right."

Crowley shuddered, legs only barely still supporting him. He groaned softly as he pushed his oversensitive body fully down onto Aziraphale's cock, then went quiet as he almost instantly fell asleep with the angel still inside him, utterly exhausted. Aziraphale lay there for a few moments, watching the tension bleed from Crowley's body with a heavy heart.

He seemed so content, so at peace in his slumber, lips parting just slightly when Aziraphale lifted a trembling hand to brush a lock of red hair away from his face. The angel slipped his softening cock out of the demon, shifting him so he splayed out across the soft plushness of Aziraphale's chest. Crowley snuggled against him, mouth turning up softly at the corners, and Aziraphale dismissed all the mess they'd made with a wave of his hand before letting it come to rest in the small of Crowley's back.

Aziraphale's ribcage ached as he rubbed his thumb in gentle strokes along the base of the demon's spine, jealously hoarding the memory of everything that had just transpired and holding it close. Crowley looked as beautiful now as he had when he'd been writhing beneath Aziraphale, moving atop him, spine arching and head flung back in ecstasy. The way he'd cried out Aziraphale's name as he came over and over, forming the syllables with something nearing reverence. Almost looking as if Aziraphale had asked him to, Crowley would have told the angel he loved him, and meant it.

None of it was real. Even the gentle embrace Aziraphale currently had him wrapped in was an artificial by-product of the lust spell. Crowley would wake in the morning - or, Aziraphale flinched at the thought, in a few weeks, or months - and he'd probably be grateful to Aziraphale, overall, but mostly he'd just be embarrassed at needing help in the first place, especially with something of such an intimate nature. He'd awkwardly suggest that Aziraphale go back to the bookshop, and Aziraphale would bow to his wishes. He'd leave the flat without telling Crowley that what he'd done hadn't been borne out of kindness, but out of a covetous, undeserving love, because the only thing worse than having the demon ignoring his true feelings would be to have him reject them out loud. This had been the only chance he'd ever get to have the demon, and it was already over.

Aziraphale looked down at Crowley's perfect face, the sharp features and sharper tongue softened by sleep, and wept.


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley had spent the first half hour of wakefulness staring at the ceiling, just letting the shame and recrimination wash over him in waves.

He'd been so weak, falling prey to a lust spell cooked up by some humans who didn't even know what they were doing. He had given in, because part of him _wanted_ to, wanted Aziraphale to hold him close, wanted the angel to shower him with affection. Except he hadn't even gotten that. Because Aziraphale had just been doing him a favour. Because Aziraphale saw their relationship as a purely platonic one, and had done what Crowley asked of him and nothing more.

It was still so much more than he had ever dared hope for.

_I've seen the way you watch me eat_.

God, he thought he'd been so careful. So clever. Such a wily old serpent, watching the angel indulge on food from behind the anonymity of his dark sunglasses, drinking in his soft, pleased sighs as he savoured his latest favourite delicacy. So many times, Crowley had lost himself to fantasy, imagining a world where he was able to kiss those pink lips. To make Aziraphale as blissfully happy as a satisfying meal did. For the angel's eyes to light up when he looked at the demon the same way they did when he looked at a dessert menu.

Crowley had already known it was never going to that way for him, that he didn't_ deserve_ things going that way for him, and everything that _had_ happened only served to make him even more certain that was true. He ground the palms of his hands against his eyelids and let out a shaky breath.

He'd never tried to tempt Aziraphale with carnal desires for a reason. Not only was it more than likely that Aziraphale would have been so ashamed with himself at giving in to such a temptation that he wouldn't want to see Crowley again for at least a few centuries - if ever - but Crowley had always been sure that just a taste of the angel would turn him into a ravenous, slathering monster that would greedily take so much more than he was being offered.

And all he'd done was confirm his worst suspicions about himself.

The angel had let a demon slither all over the celestial temple of his body, had debased himself with Crowley's essence, all because he was so pure and good that he hadn't been able to stand the thought of leaving a friend in pain. Even if that friend was a demon.

A disgusting demon who'd broken free of the lust spell those humans had unwittingly inflicted on him a lot sooner than he'd let on.

Even when he'd felt the grip of artificial lust fade as Aziraphale finally spilled into him the first time, he hadn't been able to stop, couldn't bring himself to let go of what he'd known was the only time the angel would ever touch him like that. He'd kept going, desperately imprinting the sensation of the angel beneath him, inside him, just closed his eyes and pretended Aziraphale was doing this out of love rather than obligation. Crowley had latched onto the fantasy with both hands, clutching and clawing at it, refusing to let go until he physically couldn't take it anymore and passed out.

All of his worst self-destructive tendencies had come to play, and now he'd ruined everything for a single day of stolen intimacy. He should have been stronger. He should have sent Aziraphale away, and ridden out the course of the spell miserable and alone. Never mind that he was fairly certain that the spell wouldn't have ended unless someone fucked him. If that's what it would have taken to not have done this to his best friend, then that's what he should have done. That would have been the right thing to do.

With a groan, Crowley rolled over with his eyes closed and retrieved his jacket from the floor (no wrinkles, it knew better than to disappoint him like that), fishing his phone out of the pocket to check the time. And the date. He flicked the screen on without looking, slightly dreading what he was going to see. Swallowing, he forced his eyelids back open to look, and felt his insides curdle even more.

A week. He'd slept for an entire week.

It could have been worse, he supposed. He was more than tempted to go back to sleep for another few thousand years. Maybe until the next Apocalypse.

He did, at least, feel a little better about the fact that Aziraphale hadn't stayed. Expecting the angel to stick around a whole night while Crowley slept would have already been asking a lot, having him stay for longer certainly would have been too much.

He squared his shoulders, flung back the covers, and froze.

Of course he hadn't expected Aziraphale to tuck him into bed still naked, but he was not prepared for the sight of the soft, pale tartan pyjamas the angel had clad him in. The accents were picked out in a shade of red an exact match for his hair and fit him perfectly, wrapping him up like Aziraphale himself was warmly embracing him.

Crowley's throat ached, tears stinging his eyes. It was the absolute last thing he would've chosen as sleepwear for himself, and he hated himself for how much he loved it. He knew he didn't deserve the tenderness it represented. Not when he'd been so deceitful to the one who had gifted it to him.

He contemplated pulling the covers up over his head and going back to sleep after all, but could already tell that it would elude him.

With another groan, he dragged himself out of bed and headed into the living room, making a beeline for the stash of whiskey he'd liberated from those monks a few centuries back. If sleep was going to try and evade him, then Crowley was just going to drink until it was forced to come crawling back to claim him. He didn't even care about the prodigious headache that would surely result. If he was lucky - and wouldn't _that_ be a novel change of pace - he wouldn't wake up until after his hangover was gone, anyway.

It was almost five o'clock, at any rate, he told himself as his fingers closed around the dusty bottle. Even if it hadn't been, he was a demon and didn't have to ascribe to a linear concept of time if he wasn't in the mood for it.

"Oh, you're up, I'm so relieved, I was worried you were going to take another of your century-long naps."

Crowley jumped at the sound of Aziraphale's voice and promptly dropped the bottle, glass and whiskey flying across the floor.

Aziraphale shot out of the chair he'd been occupying, sending the book in his lap scattering. "Oh dear, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to startle you-"

"What're you still doing here?" Crowley asked. He'd meant to sound bewildered, because he _was_, but somehow the words came out entirely acerbic. The angel flinched at his tone, shrinking back and averting his gaze. Crowley bit his lip, feeling even more awful than he did already.

"I only… I wanted to make sure you were all right, after… what happened," Aziraphale offered tentatively. "It must have been exhausting for you, I do hope you're feeling better rested?"

Damn it all, Crowley hadn't budgeted emotionally for this, for Aziraphale to be so tender and understanding, to still _be here_ after a whole week. Crowley was still in the pyjamas Aziraphale had made for him, for Someone's sake. He swallowed, glad that Aziraphale was averting his eyes because Crowley knew he himself wouldn't be able to meet them. "I'm fine," he said, and again, his tone was far more snappish than he'd intended it to be, making the angel's shoulders twitch upward a little tighter. _Stop it, stop it, all he's done is try to help you, stop making him feel like your problems are his fault, you bastard!_

Crowley forced down the lump in his throat, the stinging of his eyes, snapping his fingers and cleaning up the mess he'd made on the floor. He really could have used that alcohol right about now, but couldn't muster the energy to separate the shards of glass from the whiskey and reconstitute the bottle back in its original form, instead dumping it off in a rubbish tip in Lincolnshire.

He looked again at the chair Aziraphale had been occupying. It wasn't the sort of chair that was designed to actually be sat on, but Aziraphale had done his level best, conjuring up a number of plush cushions to fashion himself a little reading nest. There were books stacked up next to it, several piles deep on either side. He spied a few romantic novels among the titles, and felt his chest constrict at yet another reminder that that wasn't what Aziraphale wanted from him.

Then he frowned. He knew that Aziraphale was a creature of habit, and always set his books down on his left when he was finished reading them. And he knew the speed at which the angel read. The pile of books to the stage left of the chair were more or less exactly the amount of literature the angel would have gone through over the course of seven days.

"Angel," he whispered, and whilst at least his voice had finally stopped sounding so sharp and accusatory, it now cracked horribly instead. "Have you really been here this whole time I've been asleep?"

Aziraphale picked up the book he'd dropped and made a show of inspecting the cover for any damage. "Well, yes," he admitted, fingers tracing along the spine. "I wasn't sure if there might be any other aftereffects from the spell, I didn't want to leave you to fend for yourself in case you relapsed, or anything of that sort." He managed a weak smile. "In any case, I had no idea how long you’d be asleep for, and you needed someone to take care of your plants for you in the interim. Though I do wonder what you've been doing to them, the poor things seem utterly terrified."

Crowley bit back the reproach that automatically sprang to the tip of his tongue that his plants didn't deserve to be spoiled by the angel. It all just added up to an uncomfortable analogy about himself, and he didn't want to burden Aziraphale with his pitifulness any more than he had already.

"I…" It struck him suddenly that he'd yet to display anything close to gratitude for all that Aziraphale had done for him. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "…Thank you, angel. Means a lot."

"Of course. We _are_ friends, after all." His tone suddenly became forlorn and uncertain. "Aren't we?"

_Friends_. Crowley felt the lump in his throat return. He wanted so much more. He didn't deserve what he already had. "Yeah, angel," he said thickly. "We're friends."

Some of Aziraphale's anxiety seemed to abate, giving Crowley a relieved smile that was only marred slightly by sadness. "I'm so glad to hear it," he said, fiddling with his hands as he then floundered for another topic of discussion. "I don't suppose you'd fancy a spot of tea?"

Crowley felt like he was going to throw up at the earnestness on Aziraphale's face. "Sure, angel," he murmured, and Aziraphale moved through into the kitchen, then opened the nearest cupboard, pulling down a jar of his favourite Darjeeling oolong from the shelf. Crowley knew it hadn't been there before he'd opened the cupboard, but since the angel intended to start the ritual of making tea, it had obligingly appeared. It was likely summoned from the angel's stash at the bookshop; he always complained that food and drink formed out of firmament via a miracle never tasted as good as the real thing.

Crowley slunk over to one of the barstools situated next to the counter and clambered on top, gripping the edges of his seat so tightly that his knuckles went white. The domesticity of it all, of Aziraphale bustling about making tea for him whilst Crowley was sat there in his pyjamas, was a cruel mimicry of the sort of thing he longed to have. For lazy Sunday mornings - or any morning, really, it wasn't like they had nine to fives to worry about, and the bookshop's opening hours were erratic enough not to count - where they'd let the sunshine fall over the bed through an open window, snuggling together in its warmth. He'd learn to cook, make the angel breakfast in bed, indulging himself in watching Aziraphale indulge himself, just like he'd always done when they went out to dinner together. Aziraphale would moan appreciatively at the flavours bursting over his tongue, declaring that the crepes Crowley had made for him were better than any he'd ever had in Paris, and Crowley would smile at the flattery, leaning in to lick the sugar and lemon from Aziraphale's lips.

They'd kiss slowly, languidly, Aziraphale letting out a quiet giggle when Crowley kissed the tip of his nose. Then Crowley would shift down and make him moan for reasons that had nothing to do with food, until the only taste left on the angel's tongue was the shape of Crowley's name.

Except they wouldn't do any of those things, because he knew that wasn't what Aziraphale wanted.

In that respect, like with so many other things, Crowley was alone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter, as (a) I'm in the middle of my exams so I haven't had as much time to write and (b) I wanted to end it where I ended it because I'm a bit of a bastard.

"Do you keep a tea set anywhere?" the angel asked, peering through various cupboards at all the modern appliances that Crowley owned but had never used.

"Three doors over from where you're at, bottom shelf," Crowley replied absently, still knuckling his barstool, forcing himself to look away as Aziraphale bent over and rooted around inside the cupboard.

"Oh, _Crowley_," Aziraphale murmured as he gingerly removed the no doubt ludicrously expensive kintsugi teapot from the shelf. Crowley couldn't quite recall what he'd paid for it; given that he could just materialise extra digits onto the end of his bank balance as needed, he tended to have a fairly loose grasp on how much things cost. Perhaps it was apt, then, that Aziraphale cradled it like it was a priceless treasure. Veins of gold spiderwebbed across the matt black lacquer of the teapot's surface, almost seeming to glow from within. "Something broken, made beautiful," he whispered, and Crowley shifted uncomfortably.

"'S just a teapot," he muttered. "Don't read into it." It definitely hadn't called out to him in the first place for any symbolic reasons. It definitely didn't remind him of the way that merely being in Aziraphale's presence made him feel like the angel's golden warmth was flowing against all the jagged, charred pieces of his soul, filling the void that had been left when he'd been flung out of Heaven.

Aziraphale gave him a searching look, one which Crowley studiously ignored by pretending there was something immensely interesting happening out the window. With the barest of sighs, Aziraphale retrieved the two matching sets of black and gold teacups and saucers from the cupboard and set them on the counter. He frowned as he cast his gaze about the kitchen and finally landed on Crowley's kettle. The angel looked at its sleek, futuristic design in utter bafflement, unsure as to where he was supposed to put the water in, let alone how to turn it on. He turned to the demon for guidance, but Crowley just shrugged. The kettle existed purely for aesthetic purposes; he had no idea how to actually operate the bloody thing. He thought it might even be connected to his smartphone, so Aziraphale, who still hadn't entirely gotten the hang of a phone with buttons rather than a rotary dial, really had no chance of figuring it out, either.

The angel sighed a little more audibly this time and summoned his own kettle from the bookshop. Crowley had noticed that he'd gotten a lot more flagrant with his everyday miracles now that he didn't have any heavenly bureaucracy breathing down his neck - it was probably for the best, he thought, shame miserably heating his cheeks. The angel certainly would have had some explaining to do about the miracles he'd used during their entanglement the week before otherwise.

Crowley's grip tightened to the point where the seat was beginning to buckle and let out a long, slow breath.

"Angel… we need to talk. About what happened."

Aziraphale didn't look at him. "I don't see that we do. You were in a spot of trouble, and I helped you through it. Nothing more to it than that." He jerked his head sharply, decisively to the side. He focused with suspicious intensity on brewing the pot of tea, and Crowley froze, suddenly side-tracked as the movement revealed the barest edge of a week-old bruise poking out from beneath his collar, stark against his pale skin and pale clothes.

"Aziraphale," he rasped, staring distractedly at the sliver of yellowish purple. "What is that?"

Aziraphale tensed, diligently keeping his gaze on the teapot as he carefully spooned tea leaves into it. "What do you mean? You've seen someone make tea before, surely. This is _your_ tea set."

"Not _that_," Crowley retorted, knowing the angel was being purposefully obtuse. "You-" He swallowed. "Your neck," he decided on, lamely.

"Ah," Aziraphale murmured, one hand rising to absently tug his collar higher, hiding the marks again. "You should know, my dear boy. After all, you put them there."

There was no accusation in Aziraphale's tone, but that only served to make the words sting more. They were crisp, professional. Yet another reminder that there had been no deeper emotion behind what Aziraphale had done for him, just a mere courtesy out of deference to their longstanding Arrangement. "I know that," he said acerbically, aching at the reminder that the angel would never love him the way Crowley so desperately wanted him to. "Why didn't you miracle them away?"

The kettle whistled, and Aziraphale turned towards it. "Perhaps I wanted a memento," he replied stiffly as he moved back, pouring the hot water into the teapot. "Surely you won't begrudge me that. You must know how I feel about this entire situation." He set the kettle back down with a precise, controlled motion. "I really think it would be better for both of us if we didn't discuss it any further."

Of course, Crowley thought, heart sinking. Of course Aziraphale would want to wear the marks of what Crowley had done to him as penance for sullying himself with a demon. 

His traitorous brain reminded him just how far below the collar the bruises extended, how he'd sucked and bitten hickeys onto the angel's neck and collarbones, how his nails had raked possessive scratches up and down Aziraphale's back. How the single shred of restraint he'd had left had wrapped itself tight around those three blessed words until he'd nearly choked, keeping him from uttering them. The same threadbare self-control had kept him from kissing the angel, only just, because doing so would have opened the floodgates, would have utterly ruined the easy camaraderie that had only been growing since the failed Apocalypse.

Not that it mattered, Crowley thought bleakly. That's what Aziraphale had told him. _That doesn't matter_. Aziraphale had dismissed his feelings entirely, because they were never going to be reciprocated, so why bother?

Crowley wished with every atom of his corporeal form that it could be that simple. That he could just flip a switch, to find joy in Aziraphale's companionship without this deep, agonising longing for something more.

Instead, his approximation of a heart clenched as he watched the angel watching the tea steep. Tension stretched between them like a steel wire, threatening to cut them at any false move. 

It didn't matter that he hadn't said the words aloud. He'd been doomed the second Aziraphale had stepped into his bedroom. The angel had always been the better of the two of them at saying no, Crowley didn't have the willpower to have resisted Aziraphale's offer of assistance. And now his true feelings were as close to the light of day as he could stomach bringing them, and there was Aziraphale, pressing firmly against the door and saying in no uncertain terms that some things were better off left in the dark. Crowley was harbouring serious doubts that their friendship was going to survive them both knowing for a fact that he wanted more, that now he'd been given a bittersweet taste of something he could never have again. That this strain that had settled over them like a dark thundercloud would never lift, no matter how much they both tried to pretend it wasn't there.

Crowley had told some grand lies during his lifetime, but he wasn't sure he could convince himself of that one for very long. He probably wouldn't even make it through another conversation, no matter how ugly he knew the fallout might be.

Aziraphale eventually poured out two cups of tea, catching the loose leaves in a strainer. He bustled them wordlessly over to the granite slab bench Crowley had stationed himself at, setting one of the cups in front of him. The angel remained on the other side of the bench, using it like a barrier between them, holding his own cup of tea close.

Crowley reached absently for his own teacup, nestling it in his hands, knowing full well he wouldn't be able to stomach a single drop. He didn't even feel the heat of the teacup against his skin. He just felt numb.

It didn't matter. None of it mattered. He'd gotten unequivocal proof of the fact that Aziraphale was aware of the pathetic extent of Crowley's feelings for him, and that those feelings were unrequited. That regardless of that, Aziraphale had still offered him friendship, and a helping hand, a Crowley had taken so much more.

"Your tea's getting cold," Aziraphale prompted after several long, strained minutes of silence. Never mind that the angel had yet to take a sip from his own cup, either.

"'M not thirsty," he muttered rebelliously. If Aziraphale didn't want to talk about it, that was fine. Crowley just wasn't going to engage in conversation about any other topic, either. It would only be delaying the inevitable.

Aziraphale's face grew pinched, clutching his teacup like a shield. "…This was a mistake," he whispered, the words sounding raw, like they'd been dragged up from within the very depths of him. "I thought it would be fine, that I could…" He swallowed thickly, looking down at his tea, then looked away, face pale. "I should have realised that there was no way it wouldn't change things. I'm… I'm so sorry, Crowley, this is all my fault."

Satan, why did he have to be like that? _Crowley_ had been the one that hadn't been strong enough to resist the lust spell. _Crowley_ had been the one to accept Aziraphale's offer of help, to then spit on the angel's kindness by lying to him and pretending that the spell was still going strong long after it had faded. Even notwithstanding that Aziraphale wasn't exactly aware of that last part, the angel shouldn't have been extending that level of compassion and understanding towards a demon.

Blessed Heaven and its self-flagellating doctrines.

"'S not your fault, angel," Crowley sighed. "We both know it's mine. You were only trying to help."

Aziraphale folded his lips and looked away again, obviously still blaming himself. It was clear that neither of them was willing to shift the burden of guilt away from themselves.

"Perhaps it's for the best that we just leave it all behind us, and move on," Aziraphale told him quietly. "It's not like anything would have eventuated, regardless." He plastered on a feeble smile, forcing a small laugh that echoed hollowly in Crowley's ears. "I mean, an angel and a demon? It's quite silly to entertain the notion, isn't it?"

"Right," Crowley said tightly, feeling peculiarly like his snake form had wrapped itself around his human-shaped one and was trying to crush him to death. "You don't have to tell me. Believe me, angel, I know you'd never stoop so low as to love a demon."

The angel gave him a strange look. Like he'd just gotten constipated for the first time ever, and was very upset about it. "But… but you can sense love. You must do."

Crowley stared at him dumbly. "Aziraphale. You know I can't."

Aziraphale returned the stare with an equal level of idiocy. "What do you mean? Of course you can, it's a-" He stopped abruptly, hand shaking as he set his cooling tea down on his saucer, making it clatter. "…Oh. Oh, dear," he said, voice faint. "It's a gift from God, to be able to sense love, isn't it?"

Crowley mustered a soft snort. "Certainly not a gift from Satan."

The angel's face collapsed inward like a dying star. "You mean to tell me that this whole time, you didn't know?"

"Know what?" he said sullenly.

"Crowley," he said unsteadily, gripping the granite countertop. "I love you. I'm _in_ love with you." Tears filled his crystalline eyes. "I have been for centuries."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, they finally figured it out! Is their one shared braincell going to finally start functioning? 
> 
> Well, the odds still aren't great


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes, I bumped it up to 6 chapters rather than 5, these two just kept being idiots and having feelings and before I knew it, I'd hit the 2K mark without even being near done.

_ "Crowley," he said unsteadily, gripping the granite countertop. "I love you. I'm  _ in_ love with you." Tears filled his crystalline eyes. "I have been for centuries."_

"Centuries," Crowley echoed, his own voice sounding foreign to his ears, a grating quality to it that seemed to scrape against all the most jagged points of him, making them even sharper. All the better for him to hurt himself with. He was used to flagellating himself with his feelings, it just had never been quite as exquisitely painful as it was right now. "You're only a few millennia behind, then," he rasped, words ripping at his throat like razorblades. He had to be cruel with it, lash out, because the alternative was to accept that he'd been wasting hundreds of years, at least, where Aziraphale could have been his, if only he'd dared to be more direct about it.

The angel was shaking, the tears streaking down his cheeks. "Millennia?" he whispered. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Crowley laughed harshly, incredulousness twisting his features into ugly lines. "Because I was so sure I would've gone _too fast_ for you."

Aziraphale flinched, the words landing exactly the way Crowley had wanted to them to. He didn't feel any better.

"Why can't I feel it?" The angel's voice sounded so utterly broken. "Why can't I sense how much you love me?"

Crowley's shoulders hunched. "Probably the same reason I can't feel yours. We're operating on different spectrums." He chuckled, and it sounded like a dying man dragging his fingers through the sands of a desert. "Guess we'll never know for sure. Hardly like there's a huge sample size of demons in love with angels to test any potential hypotheses on."

"I thought-" Aziraphale's bottom lip trembled. "I thought there was no possibility that you would ever return my feelings… oh, Crowley, I'm so sorry. I would've made it so much better for you if I'd known."

Crowley's startled laughter was a horrid thing dragged up from within the deepest depths of him, scraping it way out of his throat with a sound like someone taking a chainsaw to an ancient redwood. "You're _sorry_?" He gave Aziraphale an unhappy grin. "You're the _last_ person that should be apologising here. You _really_ want to know how good it felt for me?" His eyes blazed yellow, almost seeming luminous in their intensity as he shot out of his seat, fists clenched. "The spell only lasted about an hour or so. Everything after that? I didn't care that it was more than what you'd offered me. I thought you'd stop if I said anything, so I didn't. I wanted it, so I _took_ it."

He expected more tears, or rage, for Aziraphale to declare him to be the monster that he was.

Instead, the angel's face filled with an indescribable amount of guilt, and he whispered, "That's no worse than what I did."

Crowley's brow furrowed. "What d'you mean? You clearly already knew I wanted you, physically at least, even if you didn't know I loved you. It's hardly like you forced yourself on me. If anything, _I_ forced myself on _you_."

"I didn't want it to end!" Aziraphale cried. "I _thought_ you were under the effects of that spell the whole time, and I spent every moment of it all but praying that I'd be able to have you like that a few moments longer. I _wanted_ you to remain under its influence so that I wouldn't have to stop touching you, because I thought it was the only chance I'd ever get to hold you that close! I kept trying to tell myself that I was only doing it for your benefit, but the truth is it was just as much about satisfying my own desires." The tears started to fall again. "You might think yourself selfish, but I'm certainly no better."

Crowley stared at him in stupefaction. "You… you can't seriously be equating those things," he protested. "You can't expect me to get mad at you for finding enjoyment in a situation _I_ forced you into, which I then actively _lied_ to you about."

"You were in an altered state, Crowley, you can't take on the full burden of responsibility onto yourself! Your ability to make moral decisions was compromised, that wasn't your fault."

"_Moral decisions_? Angel, my designated purpose in life is to actively subvert moral decision-making." He spread his arms wide, sneering. "I'm a demon, after all. Isn't that what I do?"

Aziraphale lifted his chin, not rising to the bait. "I rather thought the point of us being on our own side was that it _wasn't_ your purpose in life. But if you're going to insist on taking all the blame for what happened, then I forgive you."

Crowley's brows drew down thunderously over his eyes. "Get out."

"Now, let's not-"

"_Get out_," he hissed, feeling a flicker of scales race across his skin, tongue beginning to fork as he spoke.

"All right, Crowley," he said softly, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "If that's what you truly want, I'll go."

And _of course_ that wasn't what Crowley truly fucking wanted, and Aziraphale knew it, the bastard.

Neither of them said anything, and Aziraphale gave him a jerky nod, making to head for the door. Crowley caught his wrist as he walked by, only the barest graze of his fingertips against the angel's forearm, but Aziraphale stopped in his tracks regardless.

"Angel, wait," he whispered, voice thick and broken. "Please stay. If you want."

"You know I do, Crowley," he said gently.

"Just wanted to make sure." He sniffed, looking away. "You said centuries."

"I'm sorry?"

Crowley pulled his hand back and hugged his arms around his chest, not meeting Aziraphale's eyes. "You said you'd been in love with me for centuries. What was it that made you realise? Was it me getting you out of the Bastille? Was it when I asked you for holy water, 's that you refused to give it to me?"

Aziraphale coughed delicately. "Ah, well, those certainly played into it, it took me quite some time to actually realise the depth of my feelings for you, but the, um, 'lightbulb moment', as it were, that was quite a bit later, that-" He flushed. "That was the church," he said quietly. "During World War II. With the- with the books."

Crowley stared at him. "The books." His voice was completely flat. "Of course it was the fucking books," he muttered, but his mouth almost immediately curled up in a reluctant smile.

"I know you never cared for them yourself. That you saved them purely for my benefit, because you knew it would upset me knowing they'd been destroyed."

"Just didn't want you moping over them for the next few decades," Crowley replied in a mumble, his tone entirely unconvincing.

"Crowley, we both know that's not why." He kept his movements slow and deliberate as he lifted his hand to cup one of Crowley's cheeks, providing the demon ample room to move away from the touch if he didn't want it. "If anything, understanding your true motives then, doing it out a love you thought would never be reciprocated, just makes me love you more."

Crowley's eyes suddenly filled, spilling over, and all at once he collapsed into Aziraphale's touch, yanking the angel towards him and holding on tight like he'd otherwise come undone.

"Oh- oh, Crowley, my dear, it's all right," he soothed, flustered, as the demon began babbling muffled apologies into his shoulder. Crowley sagged in his arms, and Aziraphale willingly went down with him, sinking to the floor and pulling the pyjama-clad demon into his lap. He trailed his fingers through Crowley's red strands like he'd done so often in his dreams, murmured all the endearments that he'd been bottling up for years, whispering his own apologies, voice cracking on occasion as he shed more than a few tears himself.

Absently, Crowley registered the confused rustling of his plants in the next room over, and took a deep breath. That was enough of that, he decided. He was still in his pyjamas, for Someone's sake, he needed to salvage whatever scraps of his dignity remained.

"What now?" he murmured, arms still wrapped around Aziraphale's back, hands curled slightly.

"Well," Aziraphale said, carding his fingers through Crowley's hair, "I imagine that we could both use some time to process. Quite a bit has happened, after all."

Crowley swallowed, pulling away a little. "You're saying we should take things slow?"

"Not too slow," Aziraphale assured him. "I'm sure I've already made you wait long enough. Rather… I think we should take the time to savour it."

"I love you," Crowley breathed. "Sorry, just realised I hadn't exactly said it yet, so. Um. Figured I should."

_ Oh, well done. Quite the wordsmith, me. _

At least Aziraphale didn't seem to mind, giving him a soppy smile and lifting one hand to cradle the demon's cheek. "And I love you, Crowley. I imagine you know just how good it feels to finally be able to say it."

Unbidden, Crowley's gaze was drawn down to the angel's lips as he spoke. He forced himself to look back up, and Aziraphale was still smiling, a little more rosiness to his cheeks, and it was clear he knew exactly what Crowley had been thinking.

"Can I?" Crowley's eyes flicked down to Aziraphale's lips again. "Kiss you, that is? You shouldn't feel obligated to say yes, mind, it's really fine if that's too much on top of everything-"

Aziraphale stroked his thumb over Crowley's cheekbone once, then pressed his lips against the demon's.

Crowley melted so completely at the touch that he had a moment of absurd fear where he wondered if a kiss from an angel, borne out of love, would have the same effect as holy water. But there was no pain to this, just bliss, just parched earth soaking in the first drops of rain it had seen in millennia. It was a promise of more to come, of a love like a growing thing, of scorched desert sands giving way to vibrant, verdant forests, filled with the sounds of freedom and life. He still couldn't quite believe Aziraphale was willingly offering him something so precious.

When Crowley finally pulled away, it was with shaky breath and tears in his eyes.

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale whispered fiercely, still cupping his cheek, leaning their foreheads together. "I'm going to make the next time so much better for you, I swear it."

"Wuh?" Crowley replied, as eloquent as ever.

"You've been denied a kind touch for so long, haven't you?" Aziraphale asked, and Crowley pressed his cheek a little harder against the angel's palm by way of an answer. "All these years, I never dared to offer you any physical affection because I was so sure it would be unwelcome, I thought you would only want- oh, _Crowley_, my dear, I'm so sorry-"

"Angel," he whispered. "Please stop apologising. You didn't know."

"I should have," Aziraphale insisted. "Even if I can't feel your love for me like I could with an angel or a human, I still should have _seen_ it. I've been such a blind fool."

Crowley looked away, swallowing. "It doesn't bother you? That you can't feel it?"

"I don't need to," Aziraphale assured him. "Not now that I can see it." His mouth curved up gently at the corners. "It's all there, in your eyes."

Crowley felt the lump in his throat swell, blocking off any possibility of speech.

Now that he'd had some time to think about it, he realised just how strange it must be for Aziraphale to even conceive of a love that he couldn't sense. Crowley himself had long ago accepted that sensing any form of love that didn't come from within him was no longer a possibility for him. That he'd never be able to tell whether those first inklings of feeling he'd felt bloom in Eden were mutual unless the angel came out and told him, the human way. 

Aziraphale didn't have the luxury of knowing the limitations of his angelic senses. He had just carried on assuming that because he couldn't sense any love coming from Crowley's direction, there wasn't any to be found there, and he'd screwed a tight lid down on his own emotions in a misguided attempt at keeping the burden of his affections from spilling over into their friendship, potentially - in his mind - ruining it. The angel had no frame of reference for a love that he couldn't perceive, hadn't even been aware of Crowley's infernal inability to do so himself. He had nothing but the word of a demon against something he'd accepted as fact for more than six thousand years.

And yet, he had still trusted his own judgement enough, trusted _Crowley_ enough, to believe the demon when he said that that love was reciprocated. 

Crowley felt the tears start to fall again, but this time, he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that there will be another chapter after this! I really do need to keep my focus on my exams for the rest of the week, but hopefully I should be able to polish this fic off over the weekend :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Apologies for taking longer than expected, this chapter fought me a little/ended up being almost twice as long as intended. Enjoy your 4K+ words of our boys being incredibly soft to one another!

Things were a little stilted between the two of them for a few weeks after, neither of them wanting to overstep any boundaries. That lasted right up until Crowley apparently decided that he couldn't take it anymore, and told the angel he was going to pick him up for dinner that night. Aziraphale acquiesced, secretly glad that Crowley had taken the initiative so that they could stop this tentative dance and move forward with their relationship. At the same time, he lamented his own inability to take the lead in this sort of thing, of always forcing Crowley to go at his torturously slow pace. If he kept doing that, nothing would ever change.

The dinner began awkwardly, each attempt at conversation sputtering and dying, and Aziraphale feared that it would always be like this, that now they'd burdened each other so much with their own emotional baggage that they'd be forever crushed under its weight.

Then Crowley made some offhand remark about something their dear old friend Will had said, making Aziraphale burst out in a fit of giggles, and just like that, the ease of talking with someone he'd known for thousands of years returned like a flood.

Only now, when Crowley left his hand resting casually on the table, Aziraphale gathered all the courage his angelic being could muster, and covered it with his own.

Crowley looked at him, surprised and delighted, the spark in his eyes reminding Aziraphale of when they'd first met, when he'd admitted to giving away a certain flaming sword.

They kissed again when Crowley dropped him off at the bookshop. They stood on the front step, lips locked as the stars fought valiantly against the light pollution of London to shine faintly down over them.

It felt just like their first kiss, like golden rays of sunshine warming his skin for the first time on the walls of Eden, like a lush garden in bloom standing in defiance of the desert surrounding it as far as the eye could see. Aziraphale didn't need any angelic ability in order to sense Crowley's love, now that he knew it was there; he could see the demon's adoration in the glow of his golden eyes, taste the devotion on Crowley's tongue.

They kissed, and it made Aziraphale feel more powerful than he ever had when he'd wielded his flaming sword. It made him brave enough to stand strong, unflinching and unrepentant, against anything or anyone that might try and separate them.

"I do love you, my dear," he murmured against Crowley's lips. "So, so deeply."

The blush mounting of Crowley's cheeks was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "Love you too, angel," Crowley whispered back. "More than anything."

\-----------------

Their relationship moved, whilst slow by any human metric, faster than the Bentley through London traffic compared to the glacial drag they'd subjected themselves to over the millennia prior.

It took months and months of settling themselves back into their usual routines, now enriched with a love they no longer had to keep in the dark. Of dining out (now with the odd spot of handholding here and there). Of Crowley dropping Aziraphale home after (now with a quick kiss over the Bentley's centre console, or something a bit longer on the bookshop's front stoop, or one particularly heated moment when he'd pressed the angel up against the side of the car, metal groaning a little in protest, and snogged him near senseless. Crowley had barely been able to bring himself to peel himself away from the angel's warm, receptive body, clambering back into the Bentley with a flustered farewell, having a very stern conversation with his Effort on the way back to his flat to not rush Aziraphale and ruin everything). Of drinking together in the bookshop's backroom, conversations growing more nonsensical as they worked their way steadily through Aziraphale's inexhaustible stores of wine (now ending, more often than not, with them wound around each other on the couch, slurred words drifting off into contented hums, doing nothing more than clumsily stroking each other's hair).

It was one such evening, Crowley with his eyes half-lidded, warm from the weight of the wine in his stomach and the angel halfway curled into his lap, when he felt Aziraphale shift against him, felt the angel miracle himself sober as he looked up at Crowley with something undefinable in his eyes.

"'Zir'phale?" he slurred, too drunk to decipher the hesitance and determination waging war on the angel's face.

"Would you mind sobering up for me, dearest?" Aziraphale requested gently.

"…All right," Crowley replied, tone cautious, making a rather undignified face as he forced the alcohol from his bloodstream.

Aziraphale twisted their fingers together. "Thank you. I wanted to be sure that you were entirely in your right mind this time, when I asked if…" He paused, blushing delicately, eyes dropping from Crowley's gaze before lifting back up. "Would you like to come upstairs with me?"

Crowley felt his pulse stumble then roar in his ears, like the cheers of a victorious crowd. "I… yeah. Of course. I'd… I'd really love that, angel."

The angel's smile was like the sun peeking out from behind the clouds after a thunderstorm. "You would? I'm not- it isn't too much of a rush, or-"

That startled a snort of laughter from the demon, and Aziraphale had the grace to look a little bashful.

"Yes, well, I do suppose I can't really be accused of trying to rush things, can I?" He gave Crowley a rueful smile. "I've made you wait so long on my account."

"I'd wait as long as you needed me to," Crowley promised him. "The last thing I want is to forge ahead into something you're not ready for."

"Oh, I'm more than ready," Aziraphale replied, his tone firm even as his eyes softened. "We've lost so much time already."

He stood, offering Crowley his hand, two spots of colour blooming high on his cheeks as he asked, "Shall we, my dear?"

Crowley tried to minimise the visibility of the way the simple movement made him gulp like a fish out of water. "We shall," he said, attempting to speak with his usual casual drawl. He was only mildly successful, but Aziraphale smiled regardless, tugging him to his feet and gently leading him towards the stairs at the back of the shop.

For all the centuries that Crowley had been visiting the bookshop, Aziraphale had never shown him the first floor. For the most part, it was the same as the ground floor; shelves piled high with books of all sorts, an array of comfortable reading chairs scattered about with no regard for interior design, the main shop floor even visible through the circular space beneath the skylight.

The main difference was the large four-poster bed, the gossamer-thin curtains drawn aside to reveal a bedspread picked out in gold brocade.

Another gentle tug from Aziraphale, sending Crowley drifting along in his wake as they approached the bed, and the demon's pulse thudded a little harder, his entire body heating up.

This was happening. Aziraphale wanted him, wanted all of him. No external forces fuelling their actions. Just a love neither of them could sense in the way they were supposed to but one they could feel regardless, through the steady pressure of their entwined fingers, in the matching looks in their eyes.

The angel turned to face him, drawing his fingers from their entanglement with Crowley's to instead cup the demon's cheek. Crowley reached up to slide his own newly freed fingers over the angel's shoulder, only then realising his hands were trembling like leaves in a storm.

"I don't know why I'm shaking," he whispered, mortified at the thickness of his voice, the humiliating sting of tears in his eyes.

Aziraphale brushed a thumb over one of his cheekbones, wiping away the moisture there. "It's perfectly all right to be nervous, my dear. We only need go as far as you're comfortable with. Any further, you let me know and I'll stop, no questions asked."

Crowley felt his face flood with colour. "I don't want you to feel obligated to… to do anything."

Aziraphale gave him a reassuring smile. "Perish the thought, my dear," and the words would have come across as sarcastic if they had been uttered by anyone but Aziraphale. "I _want_ to do this, I have done for quite some time. As long as you're amenable, that is."

The demon swallowed, nodding before he'd even made a conscious decision to. "Well. If you insist," he murmured, trying to play it off cool. The small quirk of Aziraphale's lips told him his attempt at nonchalance was in vain.

Crowley leant down slowly, close enough that he could feel the warmth of Aziraphale's mouth in the air he breathed. Aziraphale closed the last half-inch of distance, and the nearness made Crowley tremble.

Aziraphale reached up and slowly undid his bowtie, dropping it into the plush chair by the bed. The cufflinks followed after, then he grazed his fingers over Crowley's hands, nudging them towards the buttons of his waistcoat. Crowley went, only fumbling slightly as he fed each button through its eyelet. Once done, he repeated the action over with Aziraphale's shirt, gaze rapt as the angel's bare skin was revealed to him. It was so different to seeing it with the blackout curtains drawn in his own flat, drowning in a fugue of artificial lust.

He eased Aziraphale's shirt and waistcoat off in one motion, wanting to reveal more of the angel's body. Aziraphale clicked his fingers, a miracle catching his clothes before they hit the ground and instead depositing them on the chair, neatly pressed and folded. Crowley stifled a snort, and Aziraphale smiled bashfully against his lips.

Crowley dimly felt another miracle as Aziraphale's shoes unlaced themselves, so that he could simply step out of them and toe them under the bed. Crowley followed suit, socks tucking themselves into his boots, then realised it was the only article of clothing he'd shed so far.

"Can you…" He glanced vaguely down at his own fully clothed form, and Aziraphale gave him a soft smile, expending another minor miracle as he traced a finger down Crowley's chest, making the buttons of his dress shirt pop open one by one. Crowley let out a breathless huff of laughter into the angel's mouth; it was more the suave sort of action he would have expected from himself, but of course Aziraphale was just enough of a bastard to give him a run for his money when he put his mind to it.

Aziraphale was gentle in his exploration of Crowley's newly bared skin, looking up at the demon enquiringly before beginning to push his open shirt off over his arms. Crowley obligingly pushed his shoulders back, regaining some of his usual shamelessness as he used the motion to press himself against Aziraphale's chest. The blasé effect was somewhat ruined by the breathy little gasp that punched out of him when Aziraphale tugged the hem of his shirt out of his too-tight jeans (which were growing even tighter by the second). Rather than subject himself to the indignity of having to wrestle his way out of his trousers, he simply dismissed them, sending them to drape haphazardly over the neatly folded pile Aziraphale had made of his own clothes. As was often his wont, Crowley wasn't wearing any underwear, and he was almost startled to realise that he was now entirely naked.

He reached reflexively for Aziraphale's belt, wanting to see the angel in a similar state of undress. The trousers were soon pooled around Aziraphale's ankles before being miracled off to join its brethren on the reading chair.

This time, Crowley _did_ laugh as he caught sight of Aziraphale's sock suspenders, because of _course_ the angel still wore those.

"Oh, hush," Aziraphale said fondly, giving him a kiss on the nose as he stepped out of his underwear, sending them off as well. "Would you be a dear and hop up onto the bed for me?"

And up Crowley went, dithering for a moment on how to position himself before reclining against the frankly alarming number of throw pillows. His pulse was still galloping merrily along in his ears, feeling naked in more ways than one as Aziraphale clambered onto the bed in front of him. The angel paused before moving any closer.

"Are you all right for me to go ahead, my dear?"

Crowley swallowed. "Yes. Please."

Aziraphale reached out for one of Crowley's legs, moving forward on his knees as he pressed a gentle kiss to the demon's ankle. For how innocuous the gesture was, Crowley was more than a little embarrassed by the way his breath hitched, rippling shudders going through him at the brush of Aziraphale's fingertips along his calf. It was hardly in keeping with the lascivious way Crowley had acted while under the influence of that lust spell.

It started to dawn on him that Aziraphale didn't want it to be like that - didn't want something impersonal, something without love. No, he wanted to memorise every inch of the demon's body, figure out all the best ways to take him to pieces and put him back together again.

Crowley felt his chest flutter at the near-reverent way that Aziraphale's mouth pressed against him, the adulation in the feather-like drag of the angel's fingertips over his skin. Almost as if he were treating Crowley as the sole focus of his worship.

His approximation of a heart fluttered again at the sudden realisation that that was _exactly_ what Aziraphale was doing.

"Is this still all right?" Aziraphale asked, fingers drifting down another fraction. Crowley nodded frantically, gulping in an attempt to wet his dry throat. He never wanted Aziraphale to stop touching him.

Aziraphale went so slowly that Crowley might have thought the angel was trying to make a rather petulant point, if not for the tenderness of his gaze. Over the course of what surely had to be hours, he moved down, and down, leaving soft kisses along Crowley's calf, his knee, his thigh, cataloguing all the touches that made Crowley let out more of those embarrassing breathy sighs for future reference. Crowley squirmed, fighting not to buck up towards the promise of relief as the angel's lips inched ever closer to his unsurprisingly aching cock.

He got close enough for Crowley to feel Aziraphale's warm breath washing over the weeping head of his cock, before veering off and beginning all over again with his other leg.

The sound Crowley made was that of something broken.

"Patience," Aziraphale murmured against his ankle, and Crowley heard the unspoken echo of Aziraphale's earlier promise, to make this time so much better for him. To give him pleasure like the slow, implacable movements of the tide, rather than the destructive force of a tsunami. To take things at no one's pace but their own.

"'ll be good," he croaked, feeling himself shiver again at the way the angel's eyes darkened with arousal.

When Aziraphale finally reached the inside of his thigh, his mouth grew a little more insistent, ever so gradually moving from kisses to gentle nibbles to sucking hard enough to bruise. Crowley moaned and arched into the touch, fingers twisting the bedsheets into knots as Aziraphale switched back to the demon's other thigh to leave matching marks of his possession there.

For a moment, Crowley worried that Aziraphale would veer off again, keep at his deliberate pace for who knew how long as the angel caressed the narrow planes of his chest. Seeming to sense that Crowley wanted more, Aziraphale shifted again, warm, strong hands curling around the underside of the demon's slender thighs. They had all the time in the world now, after all, Aziraphale could more thoroughly explore his body at a later date. "I cannot count the number of times I'd hoped to someday be fortunate enough to have you spread out before me like this," he murmured, pressing a kiss to one of the bruises he'd made.

Crowley's breath caught in his throat. "Angel…" he whispered, then cut off with a choked sound as Aziraphale's lips closed around the tip of his cock.

It was every meal they'd shared together throughout all of human history, Aziraphale letting out a delighted little moan of pleasure as he savoured his latest favourite delight, pale eyelashes fluttering as his tongue peeked out just slightly between his lips in anticipation.

Neither of them had use of a gag reflex if they weren't in the mood for it, something Crowley was aware of as an abstract concept, but that still didn't prepare him for the way Aziraphale then took him in to the root in a single, fluid motion.

"Ohhhh _fuck_, angel," he whimpered, arms jerking uselessly as he fought to keep them buried in the covers.

Aziraphale's fingers wandered across to find Crowley's, gently prying them free of the bedsheets and tangling them with his own instead, before bringing them around to thread through his soft platinum curls. "Are you sure you want-" Crowley started, cutting himself off when Aziraphale just hummed in assent, hands pressing Crowley's a little harder against his scalp. The demon obediently shut up and buried his fingers in Aziraphale's hair, losing himself to the sensation of the angel lavishing him with attention once more.

"_Yesss_, Aziraphale," he hissed, arching up into the welcoming heat of the angel's mouth. Aziraphale settled in closer, hands sliding over Crowley's thighs and hiking the demon's legs over his shoulders, the balls of his feet resting against the angel's waist. Crowley tried to watch the intoxicatingly slow drag of the angel's lips up and down his cock, but Aziraphale's movements were so sweetly ecstatic that Crowley's head kept dropping back against the covers, spine arching as his eyes shut of their own accord. "Oh, _angel_, yes, give me everything, I-"

The demon's eyes shot open, hands springing away from Aziraphale's head, hearing the echo of that fateful night several months back. Aziraphale pulled off immediately, looking up with soft, concerned eyes.

"Crowley, are you all right?"

"Sorry, I just…" Crowley bit his lip, looking away. "You want to do this, right? Not just because I want you to, or… or because you feel sorry for me, or something?"

"Of course I want this, Crowley," Aziraphale soothed, kissing the inside of his thigh. "I _want_ to give you everything, to show you how much I adore you, and I will keep telling you so until you believe me." The corner of his mouth tugged up. "And I'll keep telling you even once you do, because I enjoy that, too."

Crowley swallowed thickly, throat bobbing with emotion.

"But, if at any point you feel that this is too much," he urged gently, "please tell me. The last thing I want is to overwhelm you."

"I want you to overwhelm me," Crowley blurted, cheeks flaring with colour. "Angel, please, the way you're doing this, like I'm the only- please, it's everything I've ever wanted-"

Aziraphale's smile returned. "Who am I to deny you, then, you darling creature?" he murmured, mouth trailing along the galaxy of bruises swirling along Crowley's inner thighs. "When you make such beautiful sounds at my touch?" he continued, hand circling around Crowley's spit-slick cock, the demon letting out a strangled whimper right on cue. "When your love is written so plainly on your face that I truly can't grasp how I never noticed it before?" he added, looking up from underneath his lashes as his lips drifted lower, mouthing gently at Crowley's balls before lapping at his perineum. Crowley trembled and arched, the angel's ministrations too slow and sensual to do much to bring him closer to the edge, but still lighting his nerves on fire all the same.

The angel's mouth moved lower still, gaze enquiring, and Crowley's hands shot out to tangle in Aziraphale's hair just in case he started to think this would be too much for the demon again. Aziraphale's tongue laved over his hole and Crowley all but shouted as he pressed in, sucking at the demon's rim as he pushed past the resistance of the tight ring of muscle.

Crowley had always been singularly skilled with his tongue due to his very nature, but as it turned out, Aziraphale had developed enough skill of his own to all but level the playing field.

"Angel," he whimpered again, because at this point he wasn't sure he'd be able to string all the syllables of Aziraphale's name together anymore. Aziraphale hummed happily into him, tongue merrily stroking away at Crowley's inner walls, and the demon blessed loudly, hips canting upwards to give him better access. Aziraphale's hands shifted along his thighs, Crowley tilting them deliberately so that the angel's fingertips pressed into his bruises, letting the angel fold him over until his knees were all but level with his ears, crying out as the new angle allowed Aziraphale's tongue to plunder even deeper.

After what felt like an eternity, one of Aziraphale's hands slipped down from Crowley's thigh and he slid a finger into the demon alongside his tongue, making him moan helplessly. He added a second finger long after Crowley was ready for it, barely stretching him any further at all for how long he'd been going at it.

Crowley finally thought to glance between Aziraphale's legs, feeling a flash of shame at the fact he'd given so little thought to pleasuring Aziraphale throughout this. But, if the state of Aziraphale's Effort was anything to go by, his fears were unfounded - the angel's cock was hard and flushed, the head glistening with precum. Apparently he'd gotten more than enough pleasure just watching Crowley come undone under his skilful mouth and hands.

Still. The least Crowley could do was return the favour, and he wanted so desperately for the angel to fill him up besides.

"Please, angel," he whispered. "I want you to have me. To have all of me. Properly, this time."

He felt the brush of a miracle inside him as Aziraphale's fingers withdrew, making sure the incoming stretch wouldn't hurt him. Then Crowley practically saw stars as the angel gently breached him. It was almost unfathomable how good it felt, having Aziraphale treat him with such obvious love and devotion, and Crowley wanted him more now than he ever had under the effect of the lust spell.

Crowley wrapped himself around the angel - ankles locked together, one arm flung over Aziraphale's shoulder, the other cradling his face and drawing Aziraphale into a passionate kiss. He could taste himself, could taste Aziraphale, could barely distinguish between the two. Aziraphale's mouth shifted down to roam freely along Crowley's neck over his collarbones, murmured endearments washing over Crowley's skin like waves.

"You are gorgeous like this, my dear, laid out so beautifully for me, you are truly good to me, I love you, I love you," he babbled, an endless fountain of adoration that Crowley could soak up forever. His lips returned to Crowley's, bodily hauling the demon upright so he could wrap his arms around Crowley in return. Crowley let out a soft, shuddering gasp at the change in position, Aziraphale's hands firm and steady against his back as he kept moving up into Crowley, striking deep.

Crowley could feel the gradual build of it inside him, like the level of the shoreline dropping away as the ocean was drawn inexorably toward the moon. But everything he felt for Aziraphale was so much larger than the moon, the Earth, the entire solar system. It built, and built, spiralling out bigger than any galaxy until it felt like a new universe bursting into existence within the confines of his soul, until he could hear the rush of all the stars he'd ever made as an angel and billions more swirling their way between the atoms that formed him. Aziraphale shuddered against him, crying out his name like it was the only word he knew, and Crowley felt a glorious heat bloom deep inside him.

When he was finally able to drag his eyes open, wanting to drink in the sight of Aziraphale still glowing in the aftershocks, he realised that the rushing sound he'd thought he'd imagined before had been real - both of their wings had flared out onto the material plane at the moment of climax, wingtips grazing the canopy of the four-poster bed.

"Wasn't expecting those to come out," Aziraphale said breathlessly, fingers reaching out to brush over the dark coverts of Crowley's wings. The demon groaned and shuddered at the feeling, seeking out Aziraphale's mouth with his own. They kissed for a long, long time, movements sweet and slow, black feathers skimming over white.

Finally, Crowley's mouth dropped away, instead nuzzling into the junction of Aziraphale's neck.

"I do hope that means that was as good for you as I wanted it to be," Aziraphale murmured, and Crowley huffed out a laugh against his collarbone.

"Yeah, angel," he replied, and they could both hear the smile in his voice. "It was good."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [...More](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22959637) by [statisticsfag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/statisticsfag/pseuds/statisticsfag)


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